


Battlefield

by Neanmorra



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, Gen, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neanmorra/pseuds/Neanmorra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three poems about the battle of five armies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Battlefield

A red moring sun shines upon the silent plains.  
With so fair a voice from the mountain falls a brook.  
Grass and tree still wet from dew and nightly rains.  
Lonely stands the peak the Dwarves so long ago forsook.

A king, as strong and proud as mountains tall  
Hither has returned to reclaim his taken throne.  
Alas, many a trusty Dwarf in battle had to fall  
Lest be defiled the sacred halls of stone.

The day grows old, the sun is westering;  
The moon comes forth as a sickle thin.  
At last victory is with the Dwarven King,  
To the death was he defended by his kin.

My lord! Thou art walking yonder in the shade!  
Though, thy memory shall never fade.


	2. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second peom of the series "Battlefield".

Two princes, even if not many winters old  
Stand proud beside their king with heads held high.  
Expressions grim and showing hatred cold;  
Far and wide is heard their roaring battle cry.

Clad in armour wrought of Mithril light;  
With shining blades whose singing fills the air,  
Black adornments on the ground they write.  
Before them Orc and Beast fly in desapir.

Side by side they fight with fierceful ire;  
E'er seeking to protect each other.  
If Death dragged one to a world bleak and dire,  
N'er could remain alone the brother.

Fearless for their fallen king they died,  
Followed him in so dark the night.


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third poem of the series "Battlefield".

From many strings is released the feathered Death;  
King and sistersons alike fall to the ground.  
To say farewell, they seek with bloody breath,  
But from cracked lips barely drops a sound.

"Kíli ...", the elder whispers, reaching out for him,  
"When I die, will you leave me, brother dear?"  
"How could I forsake you as the road grows dim?"  
And from the elder's cheek he gently wipes a single tear.

Clad in garments white, faces chiseled pale;  
Their chests bear blades and a broken bow.  
Even if departed they will live in song and tale,  
For they reclaimed what had been taken long ago.

Indifferent the sun sets sanguine in the west;  
Slowly disappearing beneath the mountain's crest.


End file.
